


you're good where you are

by Mysecretfanmoments



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Suga's POV, hypothetical discussions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysecretfanmoments/pseuds/Mysecretfanmoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi’s legs look good in shorts.</p><p>It’s an unnecessary statement, like "trees are plants" or "the earth orbits the sun", but it keeps on surprising Koushi just how good they look in shorts; he thanks his lucky stars every day for whatever it was that led Daichi to pick up volleyball when he was a kid. </p><p>((a day in the life of Sugawara Koushi))</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're good where you are

**Author's Note:**

> Badenlily/Lin (whose art rocks my world) told me my long fic (which isn't even daisuga) made her ship daisuga and to this day it's one of the greatest honors I have held, to have that privilege; this is daisuga (as I imagine it) set in that universe. with lots of making out and thirst, hahaha.
> 
> Lin: thank you for all the amazing art you draw and I hope we continue to share OTPs for as long as we both shall live ;v;

Daichi’s legs look good in shorts.

It’s an unnecessary statement, like _trees are plants_ or _the earth orbits the sun_ , but it keeps on surprising Koushi just _how_ good they look in shorts; he thanks his lucky stars every day for whatever it was that led Daichi to pick up volleyball when he was a kid.

“Suga?”

That voice, too. He’s very happy that voice exists, and the way his name sounds carried on it. It still makes shivers go through him on occasion.

“Mm?” he says, looking up from the tan skin visible between Daichi’s shorts and knee pads; Daichi’s quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Have anything to add?” he asks, something in his face changing as he takes in Koushi’s expression.

“Nope!” Koushi says, hoping it’s true. “You covered all of it.”

 _Maybe_.

Daichi faces the team once more, disbanding them with a few words Koushi doesn’t even try to catch. Soles squeak against the parquet floor as the rest of the team stands up—only Daichi was standing—and Koushi’s about to attempt the same when Daichi stretches a hand down to him.

He takes it with a smile, and Daichi pulls him up.

“Are you getting old, Suga?”

“Well, you _do_ talk a lot after practice. I could feel my joints starting to ache.”

Daichi lets go of his hand slowly, still returning Koushi’s smile. There’s something in his expression Koushi recognizes, and when he identifies it he feels warmth trickle through him, numbing the post-practice exhaustion in his limbs. Daichi has realized what Koushi’s earlier distraction was about, and somehow it’s transferred to him; there’s heat in his gaze and unconscious grace in his movements. They’ve been dating long enough for Koushi to recognize when Daichi is turned on—and it never fails to turn his insides to jelly.

He swallows hard, his skin itchy with the need to be touched. Instead of stepping forward and possibly scandalizing Ukai and Takeda, who are still discussing something by the door, Koushi makes for the club room, trying to ignore his body’s wants. He tries to think of gross things to make himself calm down, and it helps a little to remember the smell of the yogurt cup Hinata once left in the clubroom for a week, half-eaten and out of sight, but he’s still aware of Daichi’s eyes on his back as they trek up the stairs, and can’t quite forget the warm roughness of Daichi’s palm when he helped him up.

He wants it on him.

“That’s stupid,” Nishinoya is saying when they walk into the clubroom; he’s burrowing into a clean shirt that says _one man army_. “If they’re frozen to death anyway, why not eat them?”

Koushi watches Asahi’s nose wrinkle. “You’d eat people if you were starving?”

“If they were dead anyway! Why would he toss the body over the side and then chew on his hat for food? That makes no sense.”

Koushi stops in front of his own bag, closing his eyes for a moment. He doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh at the thoroughly disgusting topic—an effective turn-off he could never have come up with himself—or cry at the way the tension leaving his body causes him to feel every ache from practice. He looks at Daichi, who steps to stand beside him, and sees Daichi’s eyes crinkling with laughter, seeking out his gaze; they’re thinking the same thing.

Koushi bites back a smile.

“You can get diseases from eating people,” Tsukishima supplies. “Creutzfeldt-Jakobs. Prion disease.”

“Bet it doesn’t kill you as fast as starving to death would,” Nishinoya mumbles, clearly still intent on eating his hypothetical dead comrades.

The grisly conversation continues for a while, until the team moves on to lighter topics and begins to drift out of the clubroom one by one. Koushi and Daichi are the last to leave, and Koushi imagines a world in which they don’t have to be cautious—where they risk staying behind in the clubroom every so often to trail kisses across each other’s skin and maybe slip hands beneath clothes and—

Oh no, it’s happening again.

“Are you hungry?” Daichi asks as they follow the others out the school gate. He’s not trying to sound sexy, but he manages it anyway thanks to the path Koushi’s thoughts have taken. Koushi has to remind himself not to close his eyes and lean into his boyfriend, who probably smells amazing right now: clean sweat from practice and a splash of deodorant that doesn’t quite mask his scent. The itch returns, his skin going hot once more.

“A little,” he says, looking at Tanaka walking next to Hinata up ahead. “Why? Are you offering to buy us all pork buns?”

Daichi makes a furious shushing noise, glancing at Hinata, who’s too far away to hear. “Don’t mention the p-word! No, I was thinking—ah, it’s stupid.”

“What?” Koushi asks, curious now.

“No, it wouldn’t work. Both our families are home.” Daichi grins self-consciously, glancing at him. “I wanted to cook you dinner.”

Koushi feels his face heat up. He likes cooking with other people, and he enjoys it on his own sometimes if he puts music on and there’s no one there to watch him sway to it, but he never particularly _wants_ to—and the way Daichi says it makes it sound like some sort of courtship ritual, or foreplay. _I wanted to cook you dinner._

“Take me, I’m yours,” Koushi says, and it doesn’t sound as flippant as he meant for it to. Daichi’s smile says he noticed.

“You could come over for dinner anyway?” Koushi offers hopefully.

“And have your rounin sister grill me on my intentions again?”

Koushi ducks his head, laughter bubbling in his stomach. Of all the people they interact with, his sister Megumi is the only one who’s intuited their relationship and seen fit to confront them about it—and she delights in teasing Daichi, her approval implicit in her continued teasing. Unfortunately she’s also home all the time since she quit her job and started studying to take the university entrance exams, and Daichi’s a little scared of her.

“Sure,” Daichi says. “Let me call my mother.”

Koushi grins.

 

 

 

After dinner, they retreat to Koushi’s bedroom to do homework—something they can only do at his house. Daichi has two younger brothers who don’t knock or believe in the sanctity of their older brother telling them to leave him alone, and even if Megumi is obnoxious at times she respects their privacy; Koushi’s pretty sure she’d hold their parents back bodily if she ever thought they were going to walk in on something they shouldn’t see.

“So,” he says, when he and Daichi are on problem seven of the math set and their legs bumping together under the kneeling table has ceased to be enough for him. “You want to cook for me, hm?”

“Suga…”

“No, no, not teasing, just interested.”

Daichi raises an eyebrow. “You, not teasing?”

Koushi waits.

“I want to do all kinds of things for you,” Daichi says, as if it’s obvious. “Hey, have you looked at eight yet?”

Koushi kicks him under the table. “Daichi!”

“What?”

Now it’s Daichi teasing, and it doesn’t take long for his mock-serious expression to dissolve into a smile, especially when Koushi starts to glare in earnest. He reaches out over their open books to trace his fingers along Koushi’s forearm, and Koushi lets out a long, careful breath, his eyelids lowering.

“What were you thinking about, in practice?” Daichi asks.

“In practice? Nothing. I was just looking at you.”

“Oh?”

Koushi moves to catch the fingers still tracing his skin, folds them around his own. “Has anyone ever told you how good you look in volleyball shorts?”

Daichi laughs. “That again?”

“Are you saying I’m predictable?”

“Hey, I’m just glad our practice outfits are what they are.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing earlier,” Koushi says. He lets go of Daichi’s hand and stands up—but only for a moment. He drops onto the bed on his back a moment later, folding his arms behind his head and sighing. “I still want you to cook me dinner.”

Daichi takes the bait; he lies down next to Koushi and mimics his posture. “I want that, too.”

They’re both still full from what Koushi’s dad prepared.

“And a cat?” Koushi asks, since this is not about dinner.

“Only if you wanted one.”

Warmth spreads through his body, and he rolls to face Daichi, creating a line of contact between his front and Daichi’s side. They’re both still wearing their dingy after-practice T-shirts and tracksuit bottoms, but Koushi swears the warmth is more intense where they’re touching, as if they’re skin to skin. He lets his hand rest on Daichi’s chest, feeling the heavy way Daichi’s gaze settles on him: dark, sure—and a familiar, nervous fluttering starts in Koushi’s stomach.

Daichi’s always a little cautious about doing stuff at Koushi’s house, but without asking Koushi knows that today is an exception—today is different.

Every day is different, but Koushi especially likes today.

He moves over to lie on top of Daichi, his weight on his elbows. Daichi unfolds his arms from behind his head, reaching to skim a fingertip across Koushi’s cheekbone.

“Suga…”

Koushi closes his eyes. Daichi’s said his name in a hundred different ways—a thousand—but the thing he loves most is the pause after, as if Daichi’s still trying to find more words to name him properly.

It’s a lot to take in. Daichi’s warmth blazes through the front of his T-shirt, his chest rising and falling, and then Koushi’s bending down to press a kiss to the side of Daichi’s mouth, his jawline, his cheekbone.

Daichi’s hand finds its way into Koushi’s hair, cupping the side of his face. His leg moves to entrap one of Koushi’s, keeping it in place, and then he presses up to kiss him, his lips just a little harder than usual from a scab on his lower lip. Koushi’s heart hammers in his chest, arousal beginning to tingle through him alongside a feeling of love—for Daichi, for the way Daichi makes him feel, even for the new sensation that small scab on Daichi’s lip presents. When Koushi was all twisted up inside about liking his best friend he never could have imagined this: Daichi pressing up into him, his hands warm, his mouth intent.

He shivers pleasantly when Daichi’s hand skims down his side to the small of his back, lifting his T-shirt just slightly to graze at his skin with rough fingertips. Koushi’s breathing stutters, then his breath leaves him completely, his forehead coming to rest against Daichi’s as he struggles to regain it.

“Daichi,” he says, and this time he’s the one lost for words. He moves his hips just a little, to relieve some of the tension in his groin, but the movement against Daichi just serves to make him harder. It’s embarrassing, this far into the relationship—he likes to be the one teasing, the one in control—but he can’t mask his arousal.

Of course, he can feel Daichi hard against his pelvis, so he knows he’s not alone in this. Daichi’s fingers are light on his spine, under his shirt.

“The door—” Daichi begins, and Koushi smiles.

“Locked. Of course.”

“Of course,” Daichi says, his exhale a laugh. He doesn’t recriminate Koushi for it, this time, because they were both caught up; there wasn’t a plan, exactly, just—a need. Tightness in his chest and stomach and electricity tingling over his skin. It’s not like the time when he teased Daichi into a frenzy just to see if he could, when Daichi had scolded him afterwards and he’d laughed and—

Well, there are a lot of good memories of that time, too.

He pushes himself up just a little so he can see Daichi’s face, ignoring the restlessness in the pit of his stomach. He knows he’s more unguarded than usual—something in Daichi’s expression tells him so—but it’s exhilarating rather than scary. _The power of volleyball shorts_ , he thinks dryly.

“What?” Daichi asks, smiling a little. “I’m not getting up there. You’re good where you are.”

Koushi snorts. This is the problem with after-practice make-outs: they’re characterized by heavy limbs and a general reluctance to be the one moving the most.

“I bet I could make you want to.”

Daichi’s smile is slow, his eyes dark. “I bet you could.”

But Koushi won’t make him, because he likes him where he is: beneath him, looking up at him like that. He leans in for another kiss, letting his hands slide into his short hair, licking at the scab on his lip and then deeper, into the warmth of his mouth.

Daichi’s hands tighten on him.

Koushi begins to roll his hips, because it’s what his body wants: to stop ignoring that ache and find relief at long last. Sometimes being in love with Daichi is hard; it’s constant temptation he can’t get away from, though not being side-by-side all the time would be infinitely harder—he knows, from the times he’s laid in this bed longing, aching, alone, wishing he was just a bit older.

His breathing is getting ragged again, but Daichi’s breath is raspy too, and Daichi’s hands have moved to fumble at the front of his tracksuit bottoms, the touch making Koushi gasp against his mouth. It’s not long before Daichi has pushed Koushi’s trousers and underwear down, and when he delays on doing the same thing to his own clothes—he caresses Koushi’s bared erection instead, making Koushi hiss a breath through his teeth—Koushi does it himself, pulling at Daichi’s clothes until he can feel the silky skin of Daichi’s length against his own.

His limbs don’t feel heavy anymore.

Clumsily, they come back to the kiss they’d forgotten when clothes started being pushed aside. Koushi feels like he falls into Daichi, body and soul, and their teeth clack in a way that would have been embarrassing when they first started dating but means nothing but impatience now; Koushi’s hips are moving of their own accord, into Daichi, who’s pressing back into him, the post-practice languor vanished as muscles strain to bring them closer together.

More contact, more of Daichi’s mouth on his, more gasped breathing and hands warm through disarranged clothes.

“Daichi,” he gasps, feeling Daichi push up, hard. Koushi reaches down to hold their erections together, and there’s a moment where this feels _illicit_ again, like they’re doing it for the first time, like he’s touching where he’s not supposed to and his stomach is all shivery anxiousness, but every part of Daichi’s body welcomes him.

It’s heaven, pure and simple.

Again he loses the coordination for kissing, letting his forehead rest against Daichi’s shoulder and looking down at where they rub together, their shirts hiked up; the dark patch of hair Koushi likes to follow downward visible above Daichi’s waistband; his own pale hips standing out starkly against Daichi’s darker skin. Sometimes, he dreams about candlelight and queen-sized beds and maybe music playing in the background; other times this is enough—more than enough, with their homework spread across the fold-out table forgotten and their clothes in disarray and Daichi’s breath sharp and short against the crook of his neck.

“Suga,” Daichi says, a note of warning in his voice, and Koushi nods, his cheeks flushed. His hand moves over both of them, and Daichi arcs back, his hands pulling at Koushi’s shirt, his hips thrusting up. Koushi can’t help it; he leans in to press a kiss to where the collar of Daichi’s T-shirt has pulled aside, revealing skin. He sucks hard enough to leave a mark, thinking about Daichi’s broad back, his large hands, the way he is with the team.

This time when Daichi says _Suga_ it’s not a warning; it’s a caress, a sigh of relief, and Koushi feels it flash through him. His arousal tenses to a breaking point, and when Daichi’s hand slides down the curve of his ass to hold him close the coil begins to unravel, lost in the feel of Daichi’s skin against his. There’s wet warmth against Koushi’s stomach, and his eyes are shut tight as pleasure soars through his body, leaving him feeling light-headed.

By the time he stops moving his heart feels like it’s going to burst, it’s going so fast.

“I should have grabbed a shirt,” he complains against Daichi’s neck when his breathing has slowed, and Daichi is twirling a lock of his hair.

“I don’t mind,” Daichi says, despite the fact that he probably got the worst of it. Koushi imagines sending Daichi home in a shirt splattered with their cum and feels his cheeks heat; will his family notice if Daichi leaves wearing one of his shirts instead?

“Stop worrying,” Daichi adds.

Koushi pushes himself back up onto his elbows, ignoring the sticky wetness between their stomachs. “And why are you so calm?”

“When am I not calm?” Daichi asks with a grin, and he fans his hand against the small of Koushi’s back before rolling them. Koushi makes a face at the dirty feel of it. “Just wait, Suga. I’ve got you.”

Koushi feels a flutter in his stomach at that, and covers his face with his clean hand. Even now, sated, he feels longing tugging at him, and it has a lot to do with Daichi’s voice and the way he smiles and _I’ve got you._ Daichi sits up to wipe up the mess with a shirt from Koushi’s hamper, and even _this_ part Koushi likes.

“You seem pleased,” Koushi says, sitting up to pull his clothes back in place and wipe his hand. He can see the way Daichi’s mouth corners are pulled up just slightly, his eyes crinkled at the outer edges. He’s made himself decent, too, though his hair is still a little messy.

“It’s nice, when you get caught up like that,” he says, looking almost self-conscious. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one suffering.”

“Suffering?” Koushi says, huffing a laugh. “What, under my spell? That’s just because you’re so straightforward.”

He likes that about Daichi, though: the way he’s easy to read, and doesn’t bother to hide his feelings.

Daichi leans forward, cups Koushi’s face with his hands and kisses him slowly. It causes havoc in Koushi’s stomach.

“Maybe if you could see yourself you’d understand,” Daichi says with a smile. Koushi manages not to snort; _if you could see yourself_ , he thinks _, you’d realize I’m always just as caught up as you are._

He’s just better at hiding it.

“So,” Daichi says, falling back against the bed. Koushi props his head on his knee, looking down at him. “A cat, huh?”

“Yeah. A really big one. Maybe two.”

Daichi snorts. “And when is this happening?”

Koushi shrugs. They’ve talked about university, a little. It’s always tentative—always marked by a hesitant need to give the other space—and it’s hard being so careful. He wants to stay with Daichi; he knows that for sure, but maybe other high school couples do too, and how many of them last?

He doesn’t like to think about that.

“You’re worrying again,” Daichi says, his face changing. “Suga, I’ll—”

Koushi places his finger on Daichi’s lips. “Don’t say you’ll go with me. We can’t know that for sure.”

Daichi looks at him in exasperation, an expression that says _I know for sure_. Koushi tries not to take it to heart, much as he wants to, because if he does it’ll be something he can lose.

The fact that Daichi believes it is enough.

He lets himself fall against the bed next to Daichi, and Daichi entwines their fingers.

“So,” Daichi says. “I’m not allowed to say I’ll go to the same university as you, but we can pick out pets?”

Koushi smiles. “Yes. And since we’ve decided on pets, curtains are next.”

Daichi laughs. “Maybe we can let Hinata pick. Or Nishinoya.”

Koushi tries to imagine the kind of curtains their underclassmen would pick, but all he can imagine are obnoxious orange and black curtains covered in volleyballs; he’s relieved there’s no shop in the world that would carry them.

He’s still smiling at the idea when Daichi turns his head to look at him. Daichi smiles too.

“I love you, you know,” he says.

Koushi feels a flutter in his stomach. “I know.”

Daichi nudges him. “What are you, that guy from Star Wars?”

“Obviously,” he says, grinning, and Daichi’s hand tightens around his. _I love you too_ , Koushi thinks, his body full of it, but sometimes he prefers not to say, to hold it in and bask in the glow of it instead, knowing Daichi can feel it without him saying.

He moves, then, to tuck himself in against Daichi’s side and feel their shared warmth again, feel the rise and fall of Daichi’s chest, his smell and his nearness. It’s a long time before they go back to their homework, but even that’s precious: Daichi in his room, across the folding table, their notebooks spread out between them. Everything is precious, in that moment, and for the time being it’s okay to be eighteen, and still in school, and in love with his best friend.

Everything is good the way it is.


End file.
